Tuesday, February 22, 2011

I Look Back Not Wanting: a spoken word poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

A spoken word poem

“I Look Back Not Wanting”

Is it a crime to cheat death?

To defy a way out of life’s end
To see the cloak of death creeping
Sweeping over my body in darkness

Only to watch it gracefully hover over my head
Grazing the end of my nose

Pulling my lashes to open my eyes
And seeing the darkness no more

I look back not wanting
But wondering why it did not
Choose me this time

Why for a moment I felt peace
And fear all at the same time

Why my lips felt cold but kissed death good bye

I look back not needing
I look back not wishing
I look back not wanting
I look back wondering why


It did not choose me this time

By John McKinley Pride Jr

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Trying to Find Reason: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Trying to Find Reason"

Some times I see this strong man in front of me and some times I see the weak that can spout out from me knowing there is not such a thing as the fountain of youth my legs tremble like numb limbs to be cut off from disease.

The cramping of my fingers, the forgetfulness of those things that are so dear to me and yet no matter what I do I steel just fade.

I hear them say “you are vanishing, just let go” but I try to push on for what I think is the reason for been here.

They whisper to me “the reason? What reason do you think you have here?”

In a calm thought I say back to them “you know, my reason, my reason for been here”

“Reason?” they say to me “what reason do you think you have, what part of reason do you not understand”

I say back to them my reason that is the part I understand, the parts that make me, me and the reason that separates you from me’

The parts that complete me and every thing that I am from the tears and the touch of a wife to the strong hugs of a son that does not want to loose his father.

That’s my reason, those are the parts those are the blessings you try to pull away from my dyeing crippled hands.

John M. Pride Jr.

Wednesday, February 16, 2011

Autumn Past: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

"Autumn Past"

Shadows of an autumn past, the greenery is gone but my heart stays still. The blue heavens stay in my mind as thoughts walk next to me left to right.

I find these words that seem so difficult to say, but yet love just walks away, not needing a challenge just a simple life with out the conflicts of others to make it so difficult to live an everyday life.

Scared to find out that there is moor people against you then what you thought, but it’s the worst when you find that one of those people is you. But you won’t be stopped until there is another autumn approaching.

By John McKinley Pride Jr.

Monday, February 14, 2011

Between Worlds: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Flash forward and come back to your self
The time with in the numbers in your hands

To choose and pluck destinations unknown
Love has grown and love has been lost
Between the hands of certainty
Death fallows behind step for step through the doors of secrecy

Time stands motionless

Time fly’s by

Time is yours beyond all time

Doorways open and close
Close and then open
Victorian dreams at there end
To see the overly morel world that has long past
Truly this is were it all begins

Begins this story
Begins this wonder
Begins the clocks of time
So the pendulum swings more then once
And the bells are ringing loud in your ears

Which door will be your last and where do you start over from here?
Between love you must stay
Between death you must run
Between time you must push on
Between these worlds you do not know
Between worlds you must go
Between worlds you must stay
Become times clay it molds you in its own way

Choose you must; you will find that time was all yours to hold, spin and mold. The hour glass it forced upon you will be filled with the infinity of sand between these worlds that have become yours.

By John McKinley Pride Jr

Sunday, February 6, 2011

Between Worlds: a poem By John McKinley Pride Jr

Time stands still

Time fly’s by

Time is yours beyond all time

Doorways open and close
Close and then open
Death fallows behind step for step

Victorian dreams at there end
To see the overly morel world that has long past

Truly this is were it all begins

Begins this story

Begins this wonder

Begins the clocks of time

And the pendulum swings

With the bell ringing
All for you

By John McKinley Pride Jr

Were do songs and art begin? In the heart?: a thought By John McKinley Pride Jr

Well first off I would like to say thank you to who ever reads my blog or even shows any interest in it. It is truly humbling and an honor to have any one looking at my work or even my blog; Thank you so much.

Were does it begin? Through ones pin or maybe the veins of some one who really loves the art of poetry or song righting. Maybe it all starts at the bed side of a child that has parents that sing them to sleep or read them a wonderful book. How ever it starts it can become like a fire in ones heart or a storm in ones brain; in my case it all started by a fifth grade teacher that put a belief in me that I never felt before. Now days we are loosing the touch of what made righter’s so great and artists so unique.

The arts have become too easy to manipulate and have been perverted by others and the media that are just looking to become popular in there fifteen minutes of fame. I am not saying that making a living off what you are good at is a bad thing. What I am saying; is that now it seems that only those who have been giving the chance to piddle through college are giving the chance to shine in this world through the art they have been forced to believe in by teachers with huge egos and godheads.

I am not pissing on the teachers of today I am just saying that the imagination of artists hands have been forced to make and create what they are told to by the public or the media and are left to please not there true individuality in what they are truly able to create with there mind. I have gone to school and have piddled with the classes of the arts and have only found teachers there to be pompous and rude.

They tear apart your beliefs and work if it does not speak to them; I also have had friends and family who have taking courses and had the same spoiled moments. So much so that one individual almost gave up on them selves. Thank God she did not because of her sure will to thrive off the love of her art work she pushed on and has become some one that many people that work with her look up to.

I think that the reason why I am doing this blog is because of the many people who have told me that my work “is not commercial enough to make it” in today’s world. Well that’s just fine with me; because I will thrive off that for the rest off my life. I can only hope that other teachers read this and see that there is a want for some one to let us be us and who we are through our works. We are not all meant to be the next King or Frost or Pollock but we are meant to be us and that’s who we are to be.

I will end with this; “If your heart is not in it and only your wallets then stop before you are ruined”.